One Breath
by kathryn-hs
Summary: Booth's protective instincts are carried a step too far, with terrible consequences.
1. Chapter 1

Long, thin, and black. A half-seen, half-sensed object in Booth's peripheral vision tugs every protective instinct he possesses. Time cools to crystal. Bones is propelled behind him-dear, brave, Bones, who gapes at him uncomprehendingly-and the agent wheels, gun coming up.

"Bones, _get down_!" Short, sharp. He shouldn't have brought her. Too dangerous.

His gun solid in his grip, he aims, _bang_-

Misses.

His target isn't where he was a moment ago. He is…_there_!

_BangBang!_ Two guns fire as one. The criminal goes down, bullet to the throat in a brassy gush of fluid. The other bullet is coming at him. _Shit_.

The instant shatters in a split, spiky microsecond; the metal rips through his flesh. Its cold pain is awful and familiar.

"Booth!" Bones. Her voice is terrified, rasping in the icy air. Warmth slides down his cheek. Why is she crying for him? He's just her partner. She's alive. That's what matters. She-she won't die now. Her face is so close to his. She's hugging him, screaming but he can't hear what. She doesn't have to go to his funeral if she doesn't want to. Bones is beautiful. He opens his mouth to tell her that, tell her he's sorry he broke his promise, that he thinks he's leaving. Again. Say goodbye to…Parker (vision sparking and getting dimmer now)…goodbye to squints and especially Cam (Bones' eyes are glowing brighter than the winter snow-sky) and Jared/Mom even Dad (her white hands are spilling over with lifeblood).

His lips move, her lips move, together mouthing things the other can't quite hear. If they'd just had a little more time, time to learn, time to love-

Blackness swells, and the earth tilts away in a rush of confusion. Warm sapphires are sobbing diamonds that cut away his heart, and soft mahogany waves stretch over his eyelids, easing them gently shut.

Goodbye, Bones.

A.N. I'm really unsure about this piece. It's quite experimental and depressing, and I don't really know why I wrote it. Should I leave it a one-shot, or continue under the assumption it wasn't a fatal shot? Please let me know! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: OK, so I decided to continue it. I felt bad about leaving it that way, and all your kind reviews were inspiring. I hope you like this chapter.

Oh, and Booth and Bones ice-skating was delightful. Did my little shipper's heart good.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

An electronic pulsing invaded his head, burying itself deep in his brain like a parasite. It coiled around his brain, squeezing with aching regularity. The sensation matched the burning in his chest. Pain.

So this was hell, then? If he had been conscious enough, Booth would have screamed. It wasn't good enough. He was never good enough. Sure, he'd tried, but all the things he had done hadn't been enough to set the balance right. Damned, damned, he was damned by the blood on his hands and nothing could change that. He would never meet Bones and Parker when they died. They would go to Heaven, and he would pay for his sins in Hell.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

A light sound caught his vague attention. It sounded almost like fingernails on metal, keeping time with the other noise. Light was fuzzy through closed eyelids. They fluttered once and shut with a snap. Everything was glowing and hazy. Not so much like Hell.

A Voice: "Booth!" Breathy, sharp. Pressure on his shoulder.

Bones.

Too much right now. Just too much. He sunk again, carrying her fragment of speech with him through the night…

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep…_

Booth woke again, slowly. It was darker now. Still some light, but softer, calmer.

What was…where was…? His mind worked sluggishly. A gun…Bones…Blood.

He was dead. But it wasn't Hell. Purgatory? That made sense.

Carefully, he opened his eyes, squinting against the light. He shifted experimentally. A groan ripped his throat as pain ripped his chest into pieces. Jesus.

There was something strange about swearing by Christ after you were already dead. It felt…different, to say the least.

He turned his head slowly, and Bones was there. Her eyes were dark in the soft light, her hair was all messy, and she was so beautiful. He drank her in like a dying man (a dead man, really. This was going to do weird things to his vocabulary), while the woman in the chair stared at him like she'd seen a ghost (which he was).

This didn't make sense. Bones _wasn't_ here. She couldn't be. "What-?" He croaked in confusion towards the beautiful phantom.

"It's well past visiting hours, but I secreted myself in the washrooms and found your room." It sounded almost like her, but there was a strange quivering suppression to the timbre of her voice that made no sense. Nothing made sense.

"Visit-I don't understand…Purgatory doesn't have visiting hours. Or are you an angel?" His laugh came from deep in his chest and clawed its way out. "It almost makes sense. She'd be-she'd be pissed if she knew. There really is an afterlife. She's wrong for once."

The angel stared at him, just like Bones used to when he quoted _X-files_ or _Indiana Jones_. He should have made her at least watch _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ before he died. There were purplish circles under her eyes, long lashes clumped by dried moisture.

"Wrong. Who's wrong? I don't…I don't understand your meaning, Booth." His mind wandered. The soft light reflected from her perfect skin, and to his eyes, she glowed. "I wanted to be here when you woke up, to explain-" Her throat closed up and tears gushed from under delicate lids.

His brain was thick and soupy still, but he seized on the one word he understood. "Explain? You don't need to. I'm dead, and you're an angel." The angel jerked like he'd punched her. "No, I get it. You're supposed to save me so I can go to Heaven."

The chair clattered to the ground as she jumped to her feet, eyes flaring with some strange emotion.

"You think-" She gasped for breath, curls swinging across her face. "You stupid, infuriating man! This is the here-and-now, not some unsubstantiated afterlife, and _**you did not die**_. Which frankly is a shock, given your penchant for carelessly jumping in front of any bullet fired within your vicinity!" Booth lay paralyzed as her eyes spat flames, her mask of calm punctured and withering under the onslaught of pure emotion. "Seeley Booth! How COULD you be so unforgivably careless?"

The door swung open, and white-coated people ran into the room. She continued to hurl invective at him as they grabbed her arm, telling her angrily to come back tomorrow.

A flood of air from the doorway slammed into his nostrils, and the uncomfortably familiar scent of hospital disinfectant cleared his head for a moment. Several facts became clear,

This was a hospital. He wasn't dead. And Bones was shouting and being escorted out of his room.

"Bones! Bones, come back!" A doctor was telling a nurse to give him a sedative. He ignored them. Only she mattered. She was alive. They were both alive.

Bones stopped, motionless. The man tugging at her arm might as well not have been there. "I will come back tomorrow. I need to inform you of something." There was something horribly final in her tone.

Then she was gone again, and the thick fuzz of tranquilizers buried his mind in haze.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. Hello again! Here's another chapter for all you people, although if you were expecting cheeriness, I'm afraid you may suffer a disappointment. Oh, and I realize I haven't actually done a disclaimer yet, so:

Very Official Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I don't own the characters. I don't even own the title of this story. I stole it from the X-files episode 'One Breath'. That gorgeously emotional one where Scully's in hospital, and Mulder's going crazy. I'm currently midway through Season Six, and I'm continually surprised at how much I enjoy the series. It's just so much fun...but that has absolutely no bearing on the narrative you clicked on the little link to read, and you're probably bored now. Sorry. Here's the actual story.

It was late morning. A bright construction-paper card sat crookedly on the table. GET WELL SOON DAD made him blink back tears he couldn't entirely blame on the light. He was alive. The knowledge flooded through his body, fizzing and glowing with triumph.

Two blonde heads sat beside his bed, wearing identical smiles.

"_Daddy!_" His little boy threw himself at his father, and would have landed on his bandage if Rebecca hadn't grabbed him quickly. She pointed to the wound. Parker looked sheepish, and settled for hugging desperately at Booth's arm.

"Hey, Parker." He tousled his boy's curls, a tired grin splitting his face. "How are you, buddy? Thanks for bringing him, Rebecca."

"It's no problem, Seeley." She patted his hand, and he squeezed her fingers in reassurance before letting go. "We're just all so relieved. You were in surgery for a long time. The doctors weren't sure if you'd…" Rebecca remembered Parker, and let the sentence trail off.

"How long has it been?" Booth asked, hugging Parker one-armed.

"Four days, Dad." His son said, curling up on the bed. He dangled his sneakered feet off the side. He looked small and sad. "You got shot four days ago. Dr. Cam said you were really brave. Dr. Hodgins started using words I'm not supposed to know yet about the guy who shot you." He fidgeted, not wanted to look his father in the eye. "I was scared."

Then he did look up, and there was so much fear in those soft eyes. "I'm sorry, buddy." Booth felt awful. How did you apologize for something you'd do again in an instant? Because if it came to it, he'd take the bullet again, and again, as many times as he had to. "I didn't want to scare you. I love you, Parker. I'm so sorry."

The boy hugged him fiercely. It hurt, but he wouldn't dream of asking Parker to stop. Trying to lighten the mood, Booth asked, "So, the squints showed up, huh? Must have been pretty crowded in here." Parker nodded mutely.

Rebecca smiled. "The scientists took turns sitting with you. Even Dr. Sweets was here. Although Dr. Brennan got a bit cranky with him when he started talking to Parker, isn't that right, Doctor?"

His head whipped around so fast he half-wondered if it was going to snap. There she was, huddled into a corner of the small room, a magazine lying like a prop on one knee.

Confused memories of the night before made him wince. Had he really called her an angel? She must have thought he was crazy. And maybe he had been, thinking he was dead. Morphine always made him act like a complete ass.

Bones still looked as weary as she had the night before, but her demeanor was completely different. She had been so angry, so raw with hurt, and now all that was swept up and bundled carefully away. Her eyes were a guarded grey, reflecting the stormy colour of her blouse. If he hadn't known better, known _her_ better, he would have sworn it was just another day to her. That she just happened to stop by on the way to the lab.

But there were small clues. The wrinkles in her clothes and forehead. The fact that she wasn't hunched over some skeleton this late in the morning. The white-knuckled grip she had on the armrest. And, as she spoke, the too-careful modulation of her rasping voice.

"I thought it inappropriate that Dr. Sweets was using the time to extract information from the boy for his book. That's all."

"Lance is funny. He let me use his GameBoy, and he can talk like Yoda. Dad, he says he has a real Jedi cloak at home!" Booth laughed in spite of himself.

"I hope it's a Halloween costume." Booth swallowed. "Good to see you, Bones." He added hesitantly.

"You also." Short. To the point. Completely clinical.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Rebecca eventually cleared her throat and started telling some story about Parker's latest escapade. The boy in question provided a running commentary when he thought she was telling it wrong. The tension eased, but didn't really disappear until the squints piled through the door.

There they were, more faces Booth had never expected to see again. They were so delighted and talkative, so glad he was alive, and Booth felt himself relaxing. How had he even been lucky enough to work with these people?

Angela had brought a painting of a brilliant tropical sunset, in case he needed something that wasn't white and impersonal to look at. Hodgins lent him a mini-computer with games (from Sweets, whose current patient was suffering a mental breakdown and couldn't be left alone) and a folder of DVDs. Camille's grin was warm and relieved as she passed him a stack of his favourite books, and offered Parker a box of the granola bars he liked.

It wasn't until all the faces were lined up beside his bed that he realized he had been expecting one more. Booth nearly gagged. The analytical, strangely childlike scientist wasn't there-how could he be? He had been left behind, in a hospital bed not too different from this one, with his hands and his trust blown all to pieces.

His friends talked freely with Rebecca and Parker, who they'd all become more familiar with over the last few days. Whenever they thought he wasn't looking, they would glance over at Bones, alone in her chair, begging her silently to come over and join them. It made no difference. Ignoring them, she stared blankly at the magazine. He kept waiting for her to turn the page, but her fingers remained motionless.

Angela even went so far as to _accidentally_ kick her when she propped the painting beside Parker's card, but Bones only gave her friend a dirty look and went back to 'reading'.

Gradually they trickled out again. Rebecca had to take his boy to soccer practice, then Cam had administrative things to do. Angela announced she had 'artist stuff' to do, giving him one of those beautifully warm smiles as she air-kissed his cheek. After he was given a meaningful look from Angela, Hodgins left too, mumbling about phytoplankton and trace minerals.

Then it was just the two of them. Booth and Bones. Bones and Booth. The two partners. The center of the team. Heart and head. She was gripping the glossy paper, white-knuckled and thin-lipped.

"Bones?" He hated how frail his voice sounded, so childish and weak. "Come here? Please?" He needed to touch her. To know she was real. That _he_ was real.

In deliberate, measured movements, she set the magazine down on the little table. She smoothed her blouse carefully. Got to her feet, graceful as ever. Moved-glided, really-across to his bed. Shifted Rebecca's chair a few feet backwards. Then, only then, Bones sank into the plastic seat.

Her face was smooth, but her eyes were dull red with exhaustion. She'd never looked like that before. So careworn and tired. Not even on their worst cases. "Bones." He breathed. "Have you even slept?"

She blinked at him for a moment. "I am used to functioning on little sleep." That was spectacularly unhelpful, but it did partly answer his question.

He rephrased, "When was the last time you slept for more than, say…three hours?" His partner thought for a moment.

"Sunday night." The night before he got shot again. Booth's stomach bunched painfully. Her lips closed again. Did she plan to spend the rest of the day just sitting there staring?

"Bones." He tried again. "I'm sorry-so sorry you had to go through that again. Really. Things got complicated back there, with that perp. Honestly, I didn't mean to get shot," The attempted grin came out lopsided and watery. "It's just…everything happened so fast, and I couldn't see him, and, you know?" Booth didn't even know what he was talking about anymore. All he knew was that Bones was there, and Bones was safe, and somehow they were both _alive_ but she didn't look happy. She had that sad little girl look in her eyes, the one that made him want to hug her and kiss her senseless until whatever the bad thing was went away and left his Bones alone.

"Yes. I know." Her answer came out almost a whisper, and from the faint surprise in her expression, she hadn't expected her voice to break. She bent her head, waves of hair falling around her face, and started searching her purse.

"Are we okay?" God, he felt like such a wiener for having to ask that, but his heart seemed to be jumping up his trachea (now he was even using squinty names for body parts, Lord help him). His partner ignored his, removing a clinical white envelope out of the bag and rolling it nervously between her palms.

"This is for the Federal Bureau, but out of courtesy I felt it was only appropriate I inform you of the contents first." The envelope wasn't sealed yet, so she slipped a single sheet of paper from inside and unfolded it. The way she held it-like a precious thing, like a live grenade…He realized he was shaking. Whatever it was, it was bad. Really bad. Bones cleared her throat and began reading.

"To Who—" Her voice broke again, and a flash of panic lit her eyes before they went dead again. Muttering about the need to remain properly hydrated, she fished a bottle of water from the purse and drank. He watched the clear fluid splash against the plastic sides.

"You don't need to read it, we can talk about this. Whatever it is, we can-" She brushed him aside, and started speaking in the chilliest, squintiest tone he had ever heard her use. His stomach reversed direction and fell like a lead balloon.

"To Whom It May Concern;

As you are no doubt aware, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has utilized my services as a forensic anthropologist. I was paired with Special Agent Seeley Booth, and we solved a considerable number of high-profile and challenging cases. I offered my services with the caveat that I must be allowed to accompany said agent during the process of evidence collection, inspecting the site of burial, interviewing potential witnesses and suspects, and similar pursuits. This is colloquially known as being 'out in the field'. A number of people expressed reservations regarding my demand, but I was allowed this.

In hindsight, this was an unfortunate miscalculation on my part-"

"No! It's wasn't a miscalculation, Jesus, Bones!"

"Damn it!" Her face came alive again, and he was glad, even if the emotion was anger. At least she looked like a human being, not some distant automaton. "I am trying to read this, so if you _don't_ mind, I would appreciate-"

"You'd _appreciate_ reading me this, this shit! Why don't you just shoot me, I think I'd rather lose consciousness again-ow!" His chest hurt. Really, really hurt.

The blood drained right out of her cheeks as she looked at him, then she went back to reading again. Her voice was still clinical, but there was a thickness to it that was new.

"…an unfortunate miscalculation on my part. Because of my presence, Agent Booth has been almost fatally shot twice, and I find our working relationship to be…unequal and could potentially lead to tragedy. While the individual in question is immensely gifted and an exemplary agent, we are not compatible any longer. There is also the issue of mutual trust.

In conclusion, I am severing the relationship between the Bureau and myself, as it is no longer beneficial. Finding a new position will be no difficulty; I am considering offers from Canada, Singapore, and India.

Signed,

Dr. T. Brennan."

She finished reading and re-folded the paper, holding it uncertainly.

A.N. Gasp! That's a fairly terrible place to leave things, wouldn't you say? Go on. Click on the button and tell me so. Get angry. Don't spare my feelings (well, maybe spare them a little bit. I do have a delicate writer's constitution).


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